


Easy To Bruise

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: He wakes up slowly, like he’s swimming out of a dream, except he doesn’t remember closing his eyes, much less falling asleep.





	Easy To Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Amnesia

He wakes up slowly, like he’s swimming out of a dream, except he doesn’t remember closing his eyes, much less falling asleep.

There are two people leaning over him, he can feel it; two bodies pressed close to his, two sets of uneven breath, and they’re both touching him: one hand on his chest, stretched over his heart, and another perched firm on his knee, like the person’s afraid he might flee.

Two voices, both rough, each whispering the same word over and over again:

_Tony_.

_Tony?_

Who the hell are they talking to?

His lids lift a little and he has to squint because fuck, the world is bright. And loud. It feels like a tractor trailer is trying to ram its way through each eyeball and he groans, suddenly, awfully aware of the bruises on his body, the pain, how hard it is to breathe.

“Tony?” one of them says again. The hand on his chest lifts a little, lets him draw a full breath, does not let him go. “Baby, hey. Take it easy. Don’t try to move.”

Tony, that’s him? He’s Tony? Huh. That's funny. He doesn't feel like one.

The grip on his knee disappears and someone’s stroking his face, petting him gently like he’s an unhappy cat who might scratch. “You’re ok,” the second voice says. “I’m sure it hurts like hell, but you’ll be ok. We’ve got you.”

His tongue is sawdust and his brain is a bucket of nails and whatever’s happened, his body is fucking furious about it. He can feel rocks beneath his back and his fingers are clutching at grass and the whole world smells alive, like a flower shop, and in the distance, there’s the dull roar of water and a murmur of birds, and he’s--he’s--

“Where am I?”

“On your ass,” the second voice says.

“Bucky!” the first one says.

“What? It’s true.” He gets a flash of a grin, a smile half hidden behind a beard, and the man’s fingers slip beneath his chin, scratch gently at his neck. “And somehow I think his ego’s not as easy to bruise as the rest of him. He can take the truth, can’t you, babe? You went ass over teakettle out of a goddamn tree.”

“Um?” he gets out.

“I think he has a concussion,” the first voice says, his nails turning in worried circles.

“Probably,” Bucky says. “And he’s drunk. That can’t be helping.” His touch softens and then he’s leaning in, tipping his voice close to Tony’s ear. “Hey, beautiful. Do you know what day it is?”


End file.
